


Project Greyfrost

by angel



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/pseuds/angel
Summary: Space AU – all plots and relationships happen roughly through Wanted.  Neal's back in prison after escaping Peter's custody, but Sara discovers that he's part of an experimental mind control program called Project Greyfrost.  Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie and Sara embark on a rescue mission/prison break to get Neal back and help him heal.





	Project Greyfrost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NYWCgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[Artwork] Project Greyfrost - Reverse Big Bang round 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399810) by [NYWCgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/pseuds/NYWCgirl). 



> Massive thank you to NYWCgirl for the amazing, inspiring artwork and for being so patient with me getting her the story and figuring out the title. Also, huge thank you to pooh_collector for betaing and cheerleading and general awesomeness.
> 
> Space AU Information: Peter's ship is Whiskey Charlie One Eight One One (named Taurus); Sara's ship is the Red Nova Two Zero Zero Niner. York is the system where they live, and there are 5 planets: Manhattan, Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, and Statenisland.
> 
> Written for the White Collar Reverse Big Bang

[](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/laeyxtzg8esgqvq/RBB2017_NYWCgirl_NealCover.jpg)  
Click to enlarge

"Whiskey Charlie One Eight One One, requesting permission to dock on base station Grandcentral." Peter flipped a couple of switches and maintained his course heading toward the planet Manhattan's surface. He had an hour before he had to meet Sara, and that left him with just enough time to dock and pick up a couple of things El had requested from the market.

An emotionless, mechanical voice came through the cockpit speakers, "Whiskey Charlie, you are cleared to dock."

"Acknowledged." 

Peter piloted his ship, Taurus, to an empty dock slot, and eased it into position. The touchdown was light and easy, a practiced maneuver. He was alone for this meeting, so he powered down the ship and engaged the primary lock before heading toward the market. 

Grandcentral was a thriving base station with a huge marketplace for native and exotic foods and goods farmed or created on Manhattan. It was also only about 300 megametres from the supermax prison station Ossining. Many of the prison guards lived on the planet, and some of the inmates worked off the latter part of their sentences on farms or at factories nearby. 

He weaved his way through the crowded vendor stalls, which were placed within inches of each other and featured artisans selling a variety of things from food to clothing to trinkets representing their home planets. The patrons were just as diverse: humans, humanoids, and other beings, some tall, some short, some with tentacles, some covered in long body hair, some that appeared translucent. 

Peter moved quickly, picking up bread and vegetables, a couple of new shirts, and a pair of slippers El had been looking for since the last solstice celebration. Luck was with him, and he found every item on the list plus a pack of his favorite beer. It was something he couldn't resist after the stress of the last few months.

The second sun was setting when Peter stowed his purchases away on Taurus and headed for the bar on the outskirts of the station. It was dark and loud; perfect for the meeting he was about to have.

Peter was taller than most of the drunken crowd, regardless of whether the beings were sitting or standing. It didn't take long to spot his cohorts in a circular booth in the northwest corner. Mozzie was looking distastefully at a glass filled with a clear liquid while Sara sipped at her own drink, which looked like it was straight bourbon. A rare, somewhat expensive treat that Peter himself hadn’t tasted in more than a year.

He ordered one for himself from the bartender before slipping into the free side of the rounded booth. Sara was sitting in the center, and Mozzie was on the other end. 

"Suit." Mozzie fidgeted, reaching for his glass before pulling his hand back as if he was afraid to touch it. This was not unusual behavior necessarily but something about it put Peter on edge. 

"Peter." Sara was all business. She slid a folder across the table to him. "We have a problem."

He raised an eyebrow, unsure of what that could mean. He pulled the folder closer, taking note of the label _Project Greyfrost_ , and opened it cautiously. The first few papers were details of Neal Caffrey's current imprisonment for escaping from Peter's custody while Peter was working in the White Collar division of the Intergalactic Bureau of Investigation, and Neal was his CI. 

The next few pages were photographs from inside the prison, showing unconscious prisoners strung up on black cables. None of the men were Neal, but Peter's stomach turned at the thought of where all this was going.

The last page detailed the process by which knowledge was extracted directly from the prisoners' brains and stored on computer chips. IBI Agents were being issued a PDA device with the data. There was also a plan for a direct link to the criminal informant's brain for an interactive experience via wireless transmission to the PDA. It sounded incredibly invasive and inhumane. 

Peter felt sick. Neal was in that prison because of him, because he couldn't keep Neal safe. 

Six years ago, Neal had been a notorious intergalactic forger, and Peter had been the IBI Special Agent that caught him and put him in prison. Two years ago, Neal had escaped Ossining to go after his girlfriend, Kate, who'd given him the worst breakup speech in history over vocomm from the opposite side of ballistic glass at a prison visit. She'd disappeared soon after. 

Neal hadn't gone farther than Kate's ship, still docked on their home planet. It had been almost too easy, but Peter knew Neal nearly better than he knew his own wife. It didn't take long for Neal to propose an alternative to prison – being in Peter's custody with a tracking anklet. Despite other, newer technology being available, Neal had argued that the anklet had never been skipped on before, and Peter had a hard time saying no to that. 

Neal had proved to be a valuable asset, but he had a tendency to go rogue. He'd found Kate, only to witness her death. Then, while Neal was still reeling and Peter was at a loss for how to help him, Philip Kramer happened. He'd wanted Neal on his Art Crimes team in the Columbian District indefinitely, and Peter knew that wasn't a workable situation, so he'd allowed Neal to cut his anklet and run. When he'd been caught, by ruthless Agent Kyle Collins, he'd been taken directly back to prison – no passing go, no collecting 200 units, no stopping for well-meaning IBI Agents to try and help. 

Peter was relieved that a waitress brought his drink right then, because he downed the whole thing in one shot. The burn of alcohol in his throat felt good, but it did nothing for his queasy stomach.

"All right," he said, closing the folder, taking a deep breath, and leaning forward. "What's the plan?"

Sara and Mozzie shared a look fraught with possibility. She reached out and took the file back as she said, "We should move this discussion to a quieter place, don't you think?"

Peter nodded, and they headed out, back to Taurus instead of Sara's ship Red Nova. He had spent a week after resigning from the IBI making sure that his personal ship was free of any listening devices or trackers. It was clean, and he felt better using his own ship for now. 

~~!!~~

Elizabeth had dinner prepared and laid out on the table when they arrived at the Burke homestead on the planet Brooklyn. The chicken and broccoli casserole smelled amazing, or maybe that was the chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. In any case, Elizabeth was a fantastic cook, and it was sure to be an excellent dinner. 

They all exchanged greetings and sat down to discuss the situation over their meal and a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. Sara brought Elizabeth up to speed on the contents of the file, and then they started to plan in earnest. 

"I've already put out some feelers for a guard's uniform or two," Mozzie said. "If Neal really is hooked up to that, that _thing_ , then we'll need to get inside to get him out."

Elizabeth looked concerned. "When's the last time anyone heard from him?" 

"He called me right after he was put back inside," Sara replied. She pushed her half-eaten plate away. "He apologized for leaving and said he hoped I wouldn't stay angry with him."

"Oh, honey. I think he'll be happy to see you."

"Thanks, Elizabeth."

Mozzie poured more wine into his glass. "He sent me a letter, but it doesn't say much. I've tried all his favorite codes, but I don't think there's a hidden message."

"I tried to get in to see him about a week after he'd been processed back into the prison, but I was turned away. I asked to speak with him, and they put him on vocomm, but he sounded off, wrong." Peter sighed, and Elizabeth reached over to rub his back soothingly. "That's when I called Sara and sent a message to Mozzie."

"What did he say?" Sara asked.

"That he was sorry, that I shouldn't blame myself, that he would be fine." 

Everyone was quiet for a moment, mulling that over. 

Then, Mozzie rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table in quick succession, three knocks. "Do you have access to the prison blueprints, Suit?"

"I don't, not anymore," Peter replied, "but I know someone who can help." Even though, he had resigned from his position in the IBI after Neal had 'escaped' his custody, he still had friends in the Bureau.

Even better, Peter had been excellent at his job, and he's racked up quite a few favors over the years, as had his team. He pulled out his vocomm and made a brief call, requesting a meeting the next day in a code that even made Mozzie's eyes widen a little.

"Hopefully, we'll have the blueprints in the next couple of days-"

"And the guard uniforms," Mozzie interjected.

Peter nodded. "Now, we need to discuss ships."

"We should use Red Nova," Sara spoke up. "Taurus is too easily recognized, and if something goes wrong, you shouldn't have to give up your ship. I've been to the prison several times; it won't raise immediate suspicion."

"Sara?"

"There's no need to dance around it anymore. You're not an agent now. You know what I do, Peter."

He frowned but nodded. "Bounty hunting-"

Sara cut him off. "Is a job. That happens to pay quite well. So, I can get us inside the shields and into the prison."

"Mozzie and I," Peter said, dropping the discussion of Sara's occupation, "will sneak inside while you create a diversion. Diana and Jones should be able to get us both the blueprints and Neal's location inside the prison. Then, it's just a matter of getting him out and away."

"I think that's about all we can do for tonight." Elizabeth stood and started to clean up their plates. "Moz, Sara, you're welcome to stay here tonight."

"Thanks, Elizabeth, but I have some errands I need to run. Thank you for dinner." Mozzie was gone before anyone could say anything to stop him.

"Well, it's getting late, and my ship is back on Manhattan. I would love to stay the night. Can I help you clean up?" Sara smiled and picked up the plates on her side of the table.

~~!!~~

The next morning, Peter headed out with Satchmo, just a man and his dog taking a leisurely stroll down to Grand Army Plaza, which just happened to be one of Mozzie's favorite meeting spots. He picked up a news tablet along the way and sat on a bench to catch up on universal reports, and sports of course, while Satchmo lay by his feet. 

Promptly at 8:45, Jones and Diana approached, both in hats and sunglasses. Diana sat down beside Peter while Jones kneeled to pat Satchmo on the head. She had a news tablet in her hand, which she set on the bench between her and Peter.

"We were up calling in favors most of the night, but we got what you asked for," Jones said.

"We also managed to get Kramer's attention," Diana added with a frown. "We're not sure how since we didn't use any Bureau vocomms, and we checked ours for bugs, but his people have been sniffing around since yesterday evening."

Peter glanced around but didn't see anyone unusual in the immediate area. There was a couple walking hand-in-hand in rumpled clothing, looking a little hungover and completely twitterpated. On the other side of the square, there were a couple of people walking small dogs and three joggers that ran by, but it was too early for much of a crowd. 

"Go back to the Bureau, work your cases." Peter set his news tablet on the bench beside Diana's. "It's just a normal day. If anyone asks, I called this meeting to see how things were going. I'm worried about my two best agents." 

Both Diana and Jones smiled at that. "We worry about you too, Boss."

"Keep your vocomms on, but hopefully, the next time I contact you will be with good news." Peter picked up Diana's news tablet instead of his own and stood. It was a smooth maneuver; Neal would be proud. 

Jones shook his hand and gave one final pat to Satchmo's head when the lab got up. "Good luck, Peter."

~~!!~~

Three days later, the plan was set in motion. Sara piloted Red Nova to the prison with no issues, partly due to her flirting with the guard who gave her clearance. While most navigational landing systems were automated, all prisons had humanoids manning communications. 

Peter and Mozzie were wearing the guard uniforms that Mozzie had gotten his hands on, along with credentials and a keycard that would get them inside. Peter hadn't asked questions, but Mozzie had assured him they were high quality. They were also carrying the news tablet, which contained the prison blueprints and an approximation of Neal's location. The experimental unit was on the third level, halfway across the prison from the landing dock. 

Elizabeth was their getaway pilot. Sara had given her a crash course in how to handle the ship, and El had been a quick study. She was going to wait in the cockpit while Sara went to meet with the warden about a possible bounty she'd contacted him about the day before. A prisoner that had been released was wanted again, and Sara had been the one to catch her the first time. 

Everyone had a job, and they were all focused on their goal: getting Neal away from this place. 

~~!!~~

Peter and Mozzie walked with crisp steps and purposeful stride into the prison and down the hallway to the left just as they had outlined during their planning. There were five locked doors between them and Neal, and they were approaching the first one. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter swiped their keycard and waited for the- _beep_. It was soft but clear, and the door had no resistance as they pushed through it. 

The inside of the prison had gray walls and gray doors with a scuffed, dingy white floor. Well, Peter assumed it had been white at one point. It too had taken on a gray hue over time. To be honest, it was incredibly depressing, and Peter ached at the thought of Neal living in this place, day after day.

It had to be hell on his friend. Neal was so vibrant and full of life, and the prison was the opposite. Now, he felt like he understood why Neal continually added color to his wardrobe, even if it was just a bright pocket square as part of his suit. 

Mozzie took the lead since his eidetic memory kept them on course, and he took possession of the tablet. They easily made their way through the second and third locked doors before they even saw anyone else in the prison. It felt a little odd to Peter, but according to the blueprints, this was the administrative and medical section of the station. There would naturally be less movement there than in the prisoner detention areas. 

Peter's heart was beating faster than ever as a woman, dressed in a similar uniform, walked toward them in the hallway where there weren't any doors or other means of escape. Just when he felt like he should turn heel and run, she nodded her head in greeting and passed right by them. 

He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't sounding an alarm. 

"Keep moving, Suit," Mozzie said, barely loud enough to be heard. "We're almost there."

He turned left down a side hall, and the fourth locked door was just in front of them with a simple nameplate above it: Laboratory. Aside from the first door having a nameplate that read Administration, nothing else had been labeled. Not any of the hallways or even other doors. 

Mozzie barely hesitated in slipping the keycard through the scanner. It felt like it took hours for the _beep_ and _click_ of the lock disengaging, but it had to have only been seconds. 

That door opened to a hallway of evenly spaced doors with small square windows about eye height and keycard scanners. Peter took a few steps to the right and cautiously peeked into the first room. It was bare and empty except for five thick black cords hanging from the ceiling, a black and gold box on a white stand to the right of the door, and a computer terminal on that same wall. It was very similar to the pictures Sara had shown him in the bar at Grandcentral.

"I have a bad feeling about this." Peter had no idea Mozzie was standing beside him until he heard the other man's voice. He jumped and nodded. 

"You and me both. Let's find him. He has to be here."

Mozzie took the left while Peter continued down the right side of the hallway. Some of the rooms were empty. Others contained prisoners suspended in the air by the thick black cables, which seemed to be plugged in to their arms, legs, and back somehow. It looked barbaric and made Peter's stomach churn.

They were almost to the end of the hallway when Mozzie made a noise, a choked gasp, that could only mean one thing. Peter spun on his heel and hurried over. 

Neal was inside, wearing all black, suspended from the ceiling and completely motionless. The black and gold box to the right was lit up with blue lights, blinking on and off in seemingly random patterns of quick succession. 

Peter grabbed the keycard from Mozzie's hand and slid it through the scanner. There was no sound that Peter could hear over the rushing of blood in his ears, but he pushed at the door anyway, and it swung open. He hurried inside and started examining the cables, trying to determine the easiest way to untether Neal. 

The cables were hooked to bands wrapped around Neal's biceps and thighs. Tugging did nothing but cause Neal to wince and weakly flap his hands as if trying to move away. He wasn't awake or aware though, and that worried Peter just as much as the cables. 

He was still examining the one running into Neal's right arm when they all abruptly disengaged, dropping Neal to the floor. 

"Oops." Mozzie, when Peter turned to look at him, was standing by the black and gold box pushing buttons. All of the blue lights had gone dark. "Better hurry, Suit. That might or might not have set off an alarm."

"You-" Peter bit off his response in favor and kneeling beside Neal and slapping him gently on the face. "Neal? Can you hear me?"

Neal moaned but didn't open his eyes. That wasn't a good sign. 

Movement caught Peter's eye, and he looked up to see a clear fluid dripping from the limp cables. "He's been drugged. Help me, Mozzie."

Together, they lifted him and put his arms over their shoulders. His feet were dragging on the floor, but there weren't any other options unless they could get their hands on a wheelchair. They had to move quick and get back to Sara's ship.

~~!!~~

Less than thirty minutes later, they were requesting departure clearance and holding their collective breaths. It hadn't taken long to get Neal onto the ship, but Sara's meeting ran later than expected, and they were all on edge and full of nerves. 

"Clearance granted Red Nova Two Zero Zero Niner," the communications officer said through the cockpit speakers. "Maintain your current course through the shield."

Sara wasted no time in following those orders. As soon as they were through the shield, she breathed a sigh of relief and announced, "We're out, lady and gentleman… and Mozzie."

There were cheers from the other occupants for a moment before they remembered the reason for all of this. Neal was secured in Sara's quarters, still sleeping off the sedatives. 

"How is he?" Sara asked, looking back at Peter and Mozzie. She hadn't had a chance to look in on him when she got back to the ship. Instead, she'd headed straight for the pilot's seat, which Elizabeth gave up easily, and got the ship moving. 

"Unconscious for now. He has some abrasions and needle marks from the cables but doesn't have any other injuries that we could see. He was sedated though. He was part of Project Greyfrost. We don't have any way of knowing his mental state until he's awake." Peter frowned, uneasy about sharing his concerns with the others, but they needed to know too. 

Elizabeth unbuckled her harness and moved to stand by the seat behind hers where Peter was sitting. She pulled him into a hug and gave him a brief kiss. "He'll be okay. We're all here, and we'll take care of him."

No one wanted to contradict her, so it was quiet in the cockpit for a moment. Then, Mozzie unbuckled himself from the seat behind Sara and moved to take over Elizabeth's co-pilot seat. He tapped at the navigational controls and pushed in coordinates that he hadn't been willing to share with any of them beforehand. It was the location of Thursday, his favorite safehouse hideout. 

~~!!~~

[](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/fk7x20wf5mx1rde/RBB2017_NYWCgirl_Neal.jpg)  
Click to enlarge

Neal was floating in darkness, untethered. There was a nagging feeling that he should be somewhere, be doing something, but it wasn't an urgent feeling. He spread his arms out wide, stretched his fingers, and felt nothing. There was no water, no wind. That was… odd.

He tried to raise his head, but it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Something was tickling his mind, but his body was strangely numb. He reached out again, wanting to feel something, but there was still nothing.

His eyes darted around, looking for something other than darkness and distant pinpoints of light. There was enough illumination that he knew he wasn't blind, wasn't staring into a void exactly, but there wasn't anything to see.

He lay still for a moment, just breathing… in… out… in… out…

In the distance, he heard a noise. It was a hum, steadily growing louder. Then, he heard a voice murmuring, just barely louder than the hum. Eventually, he was able to understand. It was his name.

"Neal?"

He knew that voice too. Sara.

He tried to move, tried to sit up, tried to get to her, but he couldn't. It was like he was being weighed down by something invisible. He gathered his strength and heaved, trying to move, but it was difficult. Suddenly, something around him broke free, and then he was falling. Neal screamed. 

Everything went black.

~~!!~~

As Neal came back to consciousness some time later, he was immediately aware of one thing. There was someone holding his hand. He cringed, pulling away before he could even open his eyes. 

"Neal?" It was Sara's voice again.

Part of him wanted to lean into her, but the other part – the larger part – wanted to run far and fast. "No," he whimpered, clumsily pushing his body away.

"Okay, okay," Sara said. "I'm taking a step back. You're okay now. Everything's okay, Neal."

He opened his eyes, grateful that the light wasn't bright. He was on a bunk in a gray room with a comfortable mattress. The air smelled stale but not terribly so. The room was tidy with a few books on the shelf above the bed, which he'd almost hit his head on in his scramble to the back corner, and some electronic equipment in another corner that looked vaguely familiar. 

There was a window to his left, but the shade had been drawn to keep the room dark. Light came from a lamp on the desk behind Sara. She was the only person in the room with him, and she'd pulled the desk chair over to sit beside the bed. 

"Hi," she said, once his eyes stopped roaming the room and settled on her. "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?" He cleared his dry throat when the words barely croaked out. 

She turned slowly and picked up a plain aluminum bottle. "It's water," she said as she offered it to him.

"You first." He wasn't drinking anything unless she drank it first.

Sara's eyes widened in surprise but she took a drink without hesitation. 

Neal accepted the bottle with shaking hands and tilted it into his mouth. The first rush of cool liquid was amazing, and he drank quickly. 

She waited until he was done before speaking. "Do you know where you are?"

He glanced around again, spotting the number 25 on the door. "Thursday?"

"Yes. Mozzie, Peter, and Elizabeth are here. They're sleeping in other quarters."

He was confused. "Why?"

"We found out about the experimental program at the prison, and we… well, we rescued you."

Neal flinched, remembering his time at the prison. He had only been there for a few days when guards had come into his cell in the middle of the night and dragged him to the medical wing for tests. The tests – he shuddered and drew his knees up to his chest – had taken a couple of days, and then he'd been taken to a small room with nothing but a computer terminal, a strange metallic box, and a set of thick black cables. He'd been given a sedative to make him compliant, hooked up to the cables, and then the real hell had begun. 

"Neal?" Sara's voice drew him back to the present. "Neal, are you okay?"

When he opened his eyes – he wasn't sure when he'd closed them – Sara was hovering over him but not touching him. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Don't apologize, okay?"

He nodded but didn't uncurl for his hunched ball. 

"Are you okay?"

"It was bad, Sara."

"I'm sorry we didn't come for you sooner."

He mulled that over while he tried his hardest to distance himself from the memories. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "Why did you come for me? How did you know?"

"That's a long story for another time."

"No, please tell me. I need something else to think about, to focus on."

"Do you remember Brian McKenzie?" The name was familiar, but he couldn't place it, so he shook his head. "He was my boyfriend, briefly, a couple of years ago. He's now the warden at Ossining, and he gives me a lot of their fugitive bounties. I suppose he's trying to win favor with me so I'll go out with him again, but that ship flew a long time ago. Anyway, he was bragging about the experimental program the last time I was at the prison, so I looked into it. You were, of course, a prime candidate."

Neal stared down at the blanket wrapped around his feet. Sara had been suspicious of the prison and concerned about him. It made him feel a little better. "So, you came for me?"

"I did. Well, we did. Peter, Mozzie, Elizabeth, and me. Mozzie got the necessary uniforms and credentials, Peter planned the rescue, Elizabeth was our getaway pilot."

Neal's lips quirked at that. Elizabeth was a very sweet person, but she got fiercely protective when her friends or family were threatened. He could definitely picture her taking part in any way that she could. Peter was the planner, and Mozzie was the appropriator. It all made perfect sense. 

"I got us clearance into the prison and distracted Brian," she added, giving him a soft smile. 

His brain was starting to fire all the synapses again, and he put these particular puzzle pieces together very quickly. "And ruined your career in the process. Sara-" 

"Stop. I knew what I was doing. That's that."

He bit his tongue. There was time to discuss this later, when it was less fresh for both of them. 

"Now, you should get some rest. It's late, and you look exhausted. Do you want more water?"

Neal shook his head. "I don't know if I can go back to sleep."

"Mozzie left a tablet here for you." She grabbed the device from the desk and handed it to him. "He said it has some of your favorite movies and books on it."

He scrolled aimlessly through the movie selections while Sara settled back in her chair with her own tablet. "What are you doing?"

"Reading Agatha Christie."

"Your favorite. Will you," he hesitated, embarrassed, "read it out loud?"

She smiled and started to read.

~~!!~~

All of his dreams were nightmares. Despite how badly his body needed rest, his mind was stuck in the loop that the prison experiment had forced it into. There had been simulation after simulation of different types of cases involving forgery, fraud, and confidence schemes. He had been medicated with a drug that made him compliant and made his brain more susceptible to the manipulation. He was tasked with 'solving' the case, showing in the simulation how the criminal could have executed the crime so that investigators would have inside knowledge. 

It had been incessant. Neal didn't remember sleeping or eating, and he didn't know when the experiment had started or how long it had lasted. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The drugs made him tired but unable to sleep and also unsteady on his feet until they wore off. Every time he woke, there was one other person in the room with him. Sara was his most frequent visitor, followed closely by Peter. Mozzie was around but didn't spend much time in Neal's room, and Neal wondered if he was getting anxious about how long they had all been staying at Thursday. 

It had been a scientific outpost on Bronx at some point in the distant past. No one besides Mozzie, and rarely Neal, had visited it in years. Neal liked that it felt familiar but not so much so that he felt like he needed to put on the face and suit of _Neal Caffrey_ all the time. 

In fact, he was currently sitting on his bunk wearing comfortable clothes – blue pants and a baggy gray t-shirt. It was late, and he had the window shade open, allowing for a beautiful view of Queens, a banded planet of browns and beiges. The clear conditions meant everything was visible from the green glow behind the distant mountains, to the bright moon, and the smattering of stars.

His friends had given up a lot for him. Sara and Peter had given up their careers, the Burkes had given up their homestead, and they were all fugitives. Neal had escaped the supermax twice now. He didn't know what would happen to him or any of them if they were caught. 

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. "Come in," he called.

"Good, you're up." Sara smiled at him from the doorway and beckoned him to her. "Dinner's ready, and Elizabeth has been cooking all afternoon."

"Cooking canned meat product?" 

Mozzie's stockpile of good food had been gone for the last few days, and the secondary options were less than appealing to anyone's appetite. Even Peter, who ate deviled ham like it was the most amazing food in the universe. 

Sara laughed. "Actually, the Riverside made a delivery after lunch."

"June." Neal would have to remember to send her something special, maybe a painting. He needed to ask for some art supplies, or at least ask where Mozzie stored them here. 

"She sent a message that she wants to visit when you're feeling better, if we're still here."

"So, Mozzie _is_ anxious about us being here."

They were walking down the hall and turned the corner into the canteen just as Neal said that, which prompted Mozzie to scoff. 

"I never said any such thing."

Peter raised an eyebrow and stared Mozzie down. "No, you just get more twitchy by the day."

"Peter's right." Elizabeth set down a pot of mashed potatoes and then patted Mozzie's shoulder. "Can I pour you a glass of wine?"

"Always." Mozzie drained his half-full glass and held it out to Elizabeth.

Neal smiled a little at their antics and moved to take his usual seat beside Sara, but there was a familiar golden lab laying under the table. "Satchmo!" He reached down and ran a hand over Satchmo's head. 

"The Riverside dropped him off with the food," Elizabeth said, grinning. "June was taking care of him for us."

Neal nodded and turned his attention to dinner. The center of the table held a dish of sliced beef with gravy, the pot of mashed potatoes, and a bowl of steamed vegetables. It looked like a feast, but Neal only took a little of each food. They were still working on getting him back up to normal portion sizes after the intravenous nutrients he'd been given during the experiment. 

Dinner conversation revolved around Mozzie and Peter's recent repair of a leaky seal in the oxygenator system – Elizabeth had called that as the issue and won 10 units from Peter and Moz both – and future menu suggestions based on the groceries June had sent.

They all helped clean up and then sat down to play a few rounds of Triad. They anted up with bits of freeze-dried beef they'd decided to use as chips, and had a good evening joking and teasing each other lightly. 

Neal excused himself after a couple of hands. He was tired and ready to spend some quiet time in his room, and he wasn't at all surprised when Sara followed him down the hall. 

His sleep had gotten a little better once Sara started sleeping with him in his bunk. It helped to feel and hear another person in the room with him because that was so different from his experience in the prison. 

"You're doing great," Sara said softly after they were settled and laying under the covers. 

He nodded. "It's getting easier to spend time with everyone as a group. I'll be okay."

"And if you ever need to talk…"

"I know where you are. And Peter. And Moz. Elizabeth. June. Everyone's offered, and I really appreciate it. It's just going-"

"-to take time. I know. I wish there was more I could do."

"Don't say that, please. You're helping me more than you realize. You push when I need a push, and you back off when I need space."

"I want you to be okay."

"I will be."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, listening to the oxygenator turning on and off and the distant sounds of their friends playing cards. 

"We can't stay here forever, Sara. We need to start making a plan."

"Mozzie thinks we should head to the Eastern sector, maybe Vanuatu."

Neal mulled that over. He hated that his best friends were in this position because of him. 

"Hey," Sara said, taking him by the chin and turning his head until they were looking into each other's eyes, "we all made this decision together. We weren't leaving you there."

He nodded and gently took her wrist to pull her hand away. The last few months had left their mark on his mind, but this one – the guilt over his friends – might be the hardest to overcome. With more time to think, maybe he could come up with a way to give his friends their lives back. Hopefully.

"Thank you," he whispered as he closed his eyes.

~End


End file.
